No Regrets
by Daughter of Romanov
Summary: The story of the man who created the Hunger Games.


_**The Dark Days Begin**_

* * *

Nineteen-year-old Glydean Selkirk stands at the top of the staircase, looking down at the party below him, as he scans the room with a spark of mischief in his dark eyes. So many lovely ladies, dressed up to the nines, here in his house at his party! Well, not _his_ house, per say, but one of his father's private residences on the edges of the districts, but Glydean does live here more often than his father after all. His father is Panem's fearsome President Selkirk, runs the country and though Glydean is his favourite child, President Selkirk has very little time for anything other than work. It doesn't much matter though; Glydean finds other ways to entertain himself which primarily involve flirty women and wild drunken parties. And that is just how he likes it! After all, why should Panem's most eligible bachelor have to settle for just one pretty lady when there were oh so many? There is enough of him to go around and he has no problem catering to his loving audience. Speaking of which, who would win his attention for tonight? He has a spectacular turnout; the Capitol's best and finest. He is debating between two girls when he sees _he_r, his jaw dropping a little.

Oh, who could blame him for staring? Anyone with eyes would! With her fair hair, sweet smiling face, big brown eyes, long graceful limbs, tiny waist- he almost thinks that he is only dreaming her. He knows her, alright. Not personally, not yet. Here in the Capitol, they call her the Girl of Gold, the brightest shining star of celebrities. She is a singer, a dancer, an acrobat, all that and more, not to mention the most beautiful creature in all of Panem. And she is here, at _his_ party.

"Oh, what a conquest that would be!" he says aloud. His best friend and sidekick, Apollo Finchkick, blinks up at him, and stands up on shaky, drunken legs.

"What?" he prompts Glydean as he takes another shot of his drink, "What's that you say, Gly?"

"You see that beautiful girl over there?" Glydean explains, "Oh, what a marvellous conquest she would be for me, the Girl of Gold, a golden notch on my bedpost. I've got to have her!"

"No one charms the ladies like you, Gly!" Apollo grins, and claps his best friend's shoulder. Apollo is right, as he often is. No one can resist Glydean's 1000-megawatt charm.

Glydean swaggers down the staircase, filling with radiating confidence. He brushes off everyone who tries to talk to him with a brisk smile, and find the Girl of Gold sipping a colourful drink at the bar. He is taken aback for a moment, simply by the light catching her eye, and pauses breathlessly. He just basks in her glow of beauty for a moment, dreamy-eyed and with a small smile on his face, before he shakes himself out of it. What is wrong with him? He doesn't stand breathlessly, he is Glydean Selkirk! He _makes_ people breathless, not the other way around! Perhaps he has been drinking too much; the alcohol is going to his head. That has to be it.

"Well, I just know that a girl as beautiful as you must have to have the most beautiful name in the world," he purrs with a cheeky grin, as he sits down next to her.

With long fluttering eyelashes like a doe, she looks up at him and giggles, "I'm Aeli Nightingale. You must have some kind of strikingly handsome name, I suppose?"

"Glydean Selkirk," he introduces himself. She nods and runs her fingers through her impossibly glossy hair. He can't help but to imagine what it would feel like to run his fingers through her soft golden hair, and has to pinch himself to get back to reality.

"That's such a lovely name, Glydean," she smiles delightedly.

"Uh… thanks, me too," he says vaguely. What? His cheeks flush red with hot embarrassment as his eyes widen with horror. Did he actually just say that? _Thanks, me too_? What did that even _mean_? He tries to think of an excuse but his jaw just hangs open and he omits a soft croak. Oh, this has to be a nightmare, right? This can't happen to him!

"You're not very good at talking to girls are you, sweetheart?" she giggles.

His cheeks flush red and he stammers, "Oh no! I- I am… I… it's just… uhh…"

"Shh… I think it's cute," she says sweetly and kisses him on the cheek. He almost shudders at the jolt of pleasure that came from her soft lips on his skin and can't help but to sigh dreamily, which only made him blush even harder. What was _happening_ to him? He has to focus.

"Uh… so…" he tries to get the fogginess of Aeli out of his brain and think of something to say, "You… you having a nice night?"

_You having a nice night_? He silently screams to himself. Oh, it would have been better for him to just keep his stupid fumbling mouth shut. Actually, it would have been better for him to just thrown himself off of the balcony before he set off to talk to her. He feels almost removed from himself, like watching a car accident in slow motion. Only, _he_ was the car accident. And he can't stop himself from shamefully crashing.

Aeli doesn't seem to notice his self-loathing, and tosses her hair over her shoulder and gives him a winsome smile, "Oh, I am! It's just the most marvellous party, isn't it? The music is just divine; I could dance all night long!"

His mouth manages another mortifying sentence to the famous dancer, "You like to dance?"

"Oh, _yes_," she breathes, closing her eyes as a wave of euphoria washed over her, "oh, I _love_ to dance! Oh, dancing is the most wonderful, exhilarating, magical thing in the entire world! Do you like to dance, Glydean? Oh, you must!"

"Yeah, I do," his mouth says, even though the rest of Glydean never danced. It isn't that he _can't_ dance, exactly; it is just that he had no interest in it at all. Why dance when there are so many better things to do? But a part of his mind informs him that there was nothing in the world that he wanted more than to dance with his arms around Aeli, and his gut tells him that that part of his mind might be right.

Aeli squeals delightedly and grabs his hand, "oh, we must dance then! Oh, you are just so precious!"

He hasn't been called _'precious'_ since he was seven-years-old, but it feels kind of nice in her beautiful melodious voice. He doesn't just _allow_ himself to be dragged out onto the dance floor; he practically skips after her like some kind of obedient puppy. It all happens in a daze; he can't remember much but the softness of her skin, his arms around her waist, and soft pretty floral smell about her. All too soon it's over, she stops with a gasp and laughed.

"Oh, I should be going, doll. But I'll see you around," she kisses him on the cheek again, making his heart soar, and disappeared. Something stirs inside of him, like a flutter of something new beginning. Glydean ignores it, and shakes his head to get the fantasy of Aeli Nightingale out of his head.

"Well, everyone has to strike out once, I guess. At least there are plenty of other girls here, Gly," Apollo comes up behind him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Glydean nods dumbly, but as he looks around the room somehow everyone in it seemed less interesting.

"Which one for you, Apollo?" he finally asks. Apollo flushes, and searches the room for a suitable partner. After securing Apollo's one-night stand, Glydean sends him off, assuring him that he, the unstoppably charming Glydean Selkirk, will have no trouble finding a companion for the night. Instead of returning to the party, Glydean retires to his room, and inexplicably finds that he is watching a video of the Aeli Nightingale singing. She moves with such effortlessly perfect grace, her voice is purer and more beautiful than any melody in the world.

"Aeli Nightingale," he murmurs to himself. For some reason, he can't get her face out of his mind or keep her voice from ringing in his ears. And for some reason, it does not bother him at all.

* * *

He sleeps in late the next morning, and doesn't get up until it is almost noon. By then, the house is cleared out of partiers and the staff has been through and cleaned up the mess. Apollo is still there, sitting in the living room.

"You're up," he remarks delightedly upon seeing Glydean. Glydean nods and smiles.

"Some night," he flops down across one of the sofas with a sigh. Apollo chatters away happily, but Glydean doesn't much listen, just nods along.

"I guess we're going back to the Capitol though, right?" Apollo finally finishes, after what seemed like forever.

Glydean nods, "Mm. Should be headed to the train soon. When does it leave?"

"Half an hour," Apollo replies, "are you going to the State dinner tomorrow?"

"I guess," Glydean shrugs, "Father will want me there, and what he wants he gets."

"Then I guess I'll go too," Apollo decides, "What are we doing tonight?"

"I'll think of something," Glydean replies. But before Glydean can think of something to entertain two nineteen-year-old boys for a night, one of the peacekeepers enters the room.

"It's time to go," he says briskly. All the peacekeepers have been so tense lately, which doesn't make sense to Glydean. It's not such a hard job really, Glydean thinks, just keeping people peacefully. How hard could it be? Glydean and Apollo are ushered from the house, and taken off to the train station. There are more peacekeepers around than usual, Glydean notes, and hardly any citizens. How strange! On the President's private train, Glydean and Apollo sit in the back carriage, looking out the huge window.

"I heard that there's been a revolt," Apollo says knowingly.

"A revolt?" Glydean repeats, uncomprehendingly.

Apollo nods and leans closer to him, "There was a huge protest in District 13 about an oppressive rule or something. The peacekeepers came in, but they didn't even stand down. People got killed, apparently."

"Damn," Glydean remarks, "When was it?"

"I dunno, like a week ago or something," Apollo shrugs.

Glydean frowns, "Oh, that's forever ago. They've probably all forgotten about it by now."

"I guess," Apollo agrees readily. The train doesn't take long to get to the Capitol, and Glydean bids Apollo goodbye before heading home. Home is the Presidential Palace for Glydean, a giant white castle of sorts.

"The President wishes to see you," one of the peacekeepers tells him.

"Alright, I'll just freshen up first," Glydean dismisses him.

"He wishes to see you as soon as you arrived," the peacekeeper says sternly.

"No," Glydean almost pouts, "I'll go see him later."

"No, now," the peacekeeper grips his arm tightly, and drags him off to the President's office, in spite of Glydean's protests and struggles. The peacekeeper raps on the large mahogany door before shoving it open and pushing Glydean inside. President Nero Selkirk is sitting at his desk, head bowed over some papers. He's in his late fifties, his dark hair streaked with grey, and his face is lined with age.

"Glydean Selkirk for you, Mr President," the peacekeeper announces, quickly exiting and locking the door. Glydean glowers after him, before turning to the President. The President stood, a grin breaking onto his tired face and he embraced his son.

"Gly, my boy," the President takes a step back from him and cups the boy's face in his hands, "how very handsome you are."

Glydean regains his composure and gives his most winning smile, "I am pleased you find me so, Father. I am so very fortunate to be the image of you."

"Ah, your flattery will get you anywhere, my son," the President grins again and returns to his desk, "sit, sit, my dear boy. Are you well?"

"Of course, Father," Glydean nods, "and you?"

The grin slips off of the President's face, "I'm afraid not, my son. Dark times are brewing."

Glydean feigns concern, although he has no head for politics, "Dark times, Father?"

"People are beginning to protest," the President murmured, "Protest against the Capitol. Protest against us, and our very way of life."

"In District 13, you mean?" Glydean asks politely.

This seemed to please the President, "Ah, you pay attention to the whispers going around. Disgusting facts from fiction is a skill for any good leader."

Glydean braces himself for the speech that will inevitably follow, "I know, Father."

"My son, one day you shall be President of this great nation and you must know how to do these things," the President suddenly stops, "But enough of that. We must focus on today."

Glydean is bewildered. Normally nothing he can do can stop his father's speech, but today he stopped himself. What on earth was going on?

"Father?" Glydean prompts him to continue.

"Things are changing in Panem, Glydean. You must be very careful," the President says firmly, "the country residences are all being bordered up. I forbid you from going to districts again. You will stay in the Capitol until you are told otherwise. Is that understood?"

Glydean's jaw dropped, "But Father-"

"Is that understood, Glydean?" the President demands, his voice cold and stern. This is serious, non-negotiable business, as much as Glydean would rather ignore his orders.

"I shall do as you say, Father," Glydean sighs with a frown.

The President kisses Glydean's forehead, "Ah, do not be unhappy, my son. I am only keeping you safe. Off you go. I must get back to work."

"Of course, Father. I'll see you at dinner," Glydean dutifully kisses his father's cheek and heads back to his room. Flopping down on the bed, he sighs. Things could be a lot worse than being a billionaire with no responsibilities or commitments, stuck in a vibrant city brimming with opulence and life. But that was beside the point. Glydean hated restrictions. He needed something to do, to keep his mind off of his boredom. It didn't take long for him to find something to entertain for the night. There was a show on tonight, starring Aeli Nightingale. Booked out, of course, but he was Glydean Selkirk. He could get into anywhere. With a quick brush of his hair, a change of clothes, and a wink in the mirror, he's off.


End file.
